


Dogfight

by The_Feeshling



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 07:56:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12008391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Feeshling/pseuds/The_Feeshling
Summary: Bored Autobots come up with something to do that even involves the local Decepticon. Set post 2007 Movie.





	Dogfight

We all, as Cybertonians, have certain adaptations to us that allow us to function easier on a foreign planet. The main two abilities being that one, we can scan and mimic very nearly any vehicle or piece of machinery that we want or need, and the other being our holographic technology. We all have projector modules of all shapes and sizes and abilities – most of the units fly via anti-grav, some can even emit holo _ matter _ , which means, in essence, a solid hologram. This is extremely handy to have to a lone scout on a planet one has never stepped foot on before. We can scan and replicate in our holograms whatever we want, be it a person, a dog, a bird, or even car accident damage, should the situation arise.

We also, as any sentient being can attest to, get very bored. Boredom leads to banter, which leads to experiments, which leads to invented games, some of which range along the ridiculous. Ironhide with his Shoot-The-Cicada game and Ratchet categorizing every single piece of flora he finds for fun. After we realized that the Hatchet was  _ actually _  enjoying researching the classes and kingdoms of the plants he found, we knew something  _ had _  to happen. So me and Jazz, we came up with something cool to do with our holograms.

Hologram dog fighting is simple. It goes a lot like this:

We scale down and generate exact replications of ourselves, as we truly are, first. Usually these holos are around six feet tall for fairness. Then, we set up an arena, either by drawing on the concrete with chalk-rock or by moving boxes or construction barricades in a circle to dictate where the boundary is. Lastly, we get our crowd going, start the bets with whatever we have to spare, and the fight is on.

The rules are easy. No stepping out of the boundary, no making your hologram solid and of course, no shifting forms. So you can't get your projection out of a jam by having it turn into a seagull to fly out of the situation. You can, however, make it perform your natural transformation – if you can, that is. Something that complex is extremely difficult to simulate and most fighters don't bother with the effort. It is neat practice, though.

The object of the activity is to, basically, have a better handle on your holo-karate than whomever you're sparring. The faster and more complex you make your projection move, the harder it is and the more concentration and computer power it requires. The aim of the game is to out-move, out-fight, and outsmart your opponent into making him or her make a mistake. If your hologram flickers or skips, you lose. If your hologram steps out of the boundary or is forced over the line, you lose. If your internal computer suddenly lacks enough RAM to keep you going and you keel over into the Blue Screen of Death, you lose.

With these rules and regulations in mind, we play and our projections of ourselves proceed to bitchfest each other into oblivion.

Ironhide loves it, even if his processing systems don't work as well as they used to and he frequently gets frustrated into losing. Ratchet plays I think just to alleviate his boredom and Jazz simply rocks. You just can't beat Jazz. He's so slagging good with that hologram of his it makes me wonder where the hell he practices. Even Prime plays, though he always lets whoever he's sparring win. It's because he's reluctant, even though it's just a fake projection albeit bearing an uncanny resemblance to ourselves, to hurt any of us. Nobody ever comes out of the matches holding a grudge, no matter how many little trinkets we lose or how many shifts of patrol duty we wind up with; it's all good fun.

We've even gotten  _ Barricade _  in on it. Sometimes Jazz or I will call him via local Decepticon frequency when we're planning on playing next and sometimes he'll show, others he won't. Ironhide sure doesn't like it one bit and it makes Prime uncomfortable, but the old blenderfaced Saleen hasn't made a hostile move towards anyone yet. He just comes, plays the game, and leaves when we're finished. He doesn't usually have anything to bet, though.

Haven't asked Blackout if he wants to play yet. I think we all agree that he is one Decepticon survivor that…we'd rather not have to deal with just yet. Sure, it's been a year, but the guy doesn't seem quite the type to .., ah ... forgive and forget.

The tension has been decreasing though. The last time we played, 'Cade showed up with a soldering iron to toss into the pot and Prime even played against him. Optimus lost that one, but Barricade is a sneaky little bastard like that. He waited until they were a couple of minutes into the round before suddenly turning on his police flashers, which distracted Prime, which made his hologram falter. I'll never forget the shiteating grin that Saleen wore after that. He took on Ironhide next but I'll be a smelted lump of scrap if that old mech didn't win that one. He drove Barricade's projection to flicker within two minutes. It was a really neat match.

And after the matches are over and everyone's done laughing and poking fun, the grand winner is announced and whatever was in the pot, if anything, goes to him. Ratchet goes back to organizing his fauna and flora charts, Ironhide returns to incinerating cockroaches, Barricade leaves and Prime gazes up at the stars. Jazz and I usually hit the road and race – the last game the Saleen invited himself to join in, and he  _ beat me _ , the slagger – before returning to basecamp for the night. Then we decide on a date, call up 'Cade, and do it all over again.

I look over at Jazz, who has a mirthful gleam to that devious little face. "Jazz to Barricade, sing back to me, copper."

The reply over the communications system is as gravelly as ever, sharp, caustic. " _ What do you want, Autobrat? _ "

"We're playin' again this afternoon. Prime wants a rematch." The Solstice smirks.

" _ Does he now. He's eager to lose again, hm? _ "

"Y'gunna be here or what, man?"

" _ Affirmative. Barricade closing communications. _ "

Game. Set. Match.


End file.
